In Which Cakes, Slytherins, and Fruit Collide
by Weirdly
Summary: Let me just set the scene. There's drama. There's suspense. There's cake and sexy Slytherins dressed in fruit. What more do you want?


**_Disclaimer:_ I do not own Harry Potter, unfortunately. I'm sorry to disappoint, but it ain't my sandbox.**

**_A/N:_ I enjoyed writing this: it provided a pleasant break from my internal football stadium of braincells all yelling ANGST! ANGST! ANGST! in unison.**

When Slytherins play, the stakes are high.

Births, deaths, marriages, loss of limbs – all are often involved when the snakes join the games. They're dangerous. They're cunning. They're wild. They're beautiful. They're bred for this.

Partially because of this, it is very difficult to defeat a Slytherin in a game of their choosing and when the one who is not Slytherin is defeated then it is almost certain they shall never play again. Often, even when the non-Slytherin wins, they will not play again. The stakes are high.

"I am _telling_ you that I can beat you in an eating contest," Ron Weasley insisted to Blaise Zabini, with the peculiar set to his forehead that his friends would recognize as his especially stubborn face. "I could eat a whole cake faster than you would. With no magic. Filthy Slytherin," he added, remembering how he was against Blaise being in the D.A.

"Are you willing to bet on that?" Blaise asked with a smirk. "Is that a challenge? Can you make a bet without your bestest friends to back you up?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it's a challenge." Ron relaxed his aggressive stance and sat heavily down at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. "And, well, they're packing, because we're going on another trip. What's it to you?"

"What are our stakes?"

"Loser has to get a detention from Filch."

"Tame. Loser walks into the winner's common room dressed only in food."

Ron's eyes widened but he agreed. "Let's get some witnesses from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw and head down to the kitchens. Get ready to lose, bastard."

Blaise just smiled.

The impartial witnesses were gathered. The cakes were made. The timer was ready to begin. The contestants were prepared.

"_Faaaaace_ your opponent!" A little first year announced the beginning of the duel. He had been snatched from the hallway to be made the timekeeper and he was still a little bewildered by these crazy upperclassmen. Blaise and Ron glared when their eyes met. "Aaaaaand…_bow_!" Ron inclined his head the barest amount. His ears were already a bright red with tension. Blaise sunk so far in his bow that he almost dipped his nose in the frosting.

"It's on, Zabini," Ron hissed. Blaise responded with a single extended finger.

"One, _two, two and an eighth, two and two eighths, two and three eighths, two and four, eighths, two and five eighths, two and six eighths, two and seven eighths_, _threeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee_ – " the first year wondered how far he could push these people. They looked violent, their forks hovering centimeters above the frosting, held in white knuckled hands. " – _eeeee_, and…GO!" He began to time.

Ron began with a massive bite which he miraculously managed to chew and swallow, but it took too long…Blaise had already caught up to him with small, neat mouthfuls.

Blaise's slanty eyes seemed to Ron that they were eyes of a snake, swallowing its prey whole. _I can swallow things whole too_, Ron thought defiantly, unaware of its innuendo, and set to prove his point.

He leaned over his cake and shoveled it in his mouth. It was soft, almost pudding-like, so he was able to eat at speeds previously unknown to wizard. The cake was shrinking fast, but Ron was slowing down…not much, but just enough that he could notice. If only the cake wasn't pineapple! Ron would win with chocolate. Ron would have a chocolate cake eaten up before anyone could say "ew."

The others noticed him slowing down. Blaise was slowly accelerating and expanding his bites. He had worked out this strategy beforehand and it was working well. Ron was tiring and Blaise was still going strong.

Ron's tried to plummet but it was too full. He was falling behind. An image suddenly flashed through his mind of being dressed in only food and having to walk into the Slytherin common room. Never mind that there weren't many left; they would all make fun of him

–

He couldn't allow this to happen. It was time for the Final Ultimate Eating Technique. If his mum ever heard that he had done this, he would be dead. But now – now was the time for courage.

Everyone was surprised – shocked, even – when Ron took a nosedive into his cake. Blaise's fork paused between his mouth and his cake. The little first-year's thumb was frozen on the button.

Had he finally given up? Had he fallen asleep? Had he fainted? The kitchens seemed suspended in time for a moment. And then they heard the oddest sound: a mixture of chewing and slurping and swallowing.

There was Ron, facedown in his cake and vacuuming it up like a dog. Blaise's eyes widened. This was bad.

He glanced down at his cake. He didn't want to get his face dirty like that but he had no choice. In a moment he was eating it up like a dog as well.

It was close. It was hard to determine exactly who had won. But it was finished.

"YES!" Ron shouted, and it echoed around the kitchen and up into the Great Hall. He danced. He sang. He hugged the first year (which made him even more bewildered). He planted cake-y kisses on everyone's cheeks. He tangoed with Dobby.

Blaise looked on, in a state of shock. He had never lost to a non-Slytherin.

But the game wasn't over yet.

A smirk spread slowly across his face.

"Everyone! Gryffindor! Come down to the Common Room to see the loser of the Weasley-Zabini eating contest dressed only in food! Come Gryffindor! Come and laugh!"

Harry looked at the flashing sign in bemusement. He had known about the contest, of course, but hadn't witnessed it. He didn't exactly want to see either Zabini or Ron clothed entirely in bananas.

"Harry, come _on_!" Ginny cried, grabbing his arm as she rushed past him. He stumbled after her into the Common Room. Ron was grinning like the cat that caught the snidget.

"Everyone!" he bellowed. "Gryffindor! I present to you the loser of the Weasley-Zabini eating contest: _Blaaaaaaaaaaaaaise_ Zabini!"

The Fat Lady burst open and Blaise came strutting through the portrait hole. He walked like a model. He was wearing only a strange mixture of bananas, frosting, and kumquats around his waist and the whole deal left nothing to the imagination.

A great shout of laughter rose up from the Gryffindor male population. Colin Creevey was snapping pictures a mile a minute, pictures that would make him very rich in the future, because… the part of Gryffindor who liked boys was standing in stunned surprise. Blaise smirked at all of them – a very sexy smirk – and beckoned them forward.

The laughter died down as half of Gryffindor walked toward Blaise as if in a trance.

Ron's ears turned bright red in fury as he saw half of Gryffindor being ensnared by the _loser_ of the game. "He _lost_! Why – why – why – why – " He sputtered to a stop.

Blaise only smirked harder at everyone and said to Ron, "For Slytherins, the game never ends. And we never ever lose."

His words rung in Ron's ears. He looked next to him, where Hermione should have been standing. She had taken two steps toward Blaise.

"You know," she said over her shoulder with an impish smile, "he _is_ really gorgeous."

And Ron let out a great roar of anger at the victorious boy, now signing autographs.

When Slytherins play, they win.


End file.
